


The Haunted House

by SherlockedWitch



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Desperation, Gen, Haunted House, Omorashi, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-21
Updated: 2013-10-21
Packaged: 2017-12-30 01:19:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1012307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockedWitch/pseuds/SherlockedWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John drags a reluctant Sherlock to a haunted house one October. Sherlock claims he's not scared because everything is faked. Sherlock Holmes doesn't get scared. Or does he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Haunted House

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, just to let you know, this story contains someone wetting themselves. If that doesn't interest you in the slightest, then I guess this isn't the story for you. Also, the character's might seem /slightly/ OOC, but I really don't think it's that noticeable. Maybe it's just me. Anyway, enjoy!

Sherlock would never understand why John had to insist on such stupid activities. Honestly, the detective could hardly call anything like this ‘fun.’ 

The two men were currently on their way to a Haunted House, of all places. Was it for a case? No. Therefore, in Sherlock’s logic, they had no reason to be going. However, John had insisted on it. Apparently it had been the doctor’s favorite thing to do around Halloween as a kid. Who would have thought? Sherlock had been very reluctant to agree. Halloween, and purposefully allowing himself to be scared, had never exactly appealed to him. Nevertheless, John had threatened to take away his toe nail samples if he didn’t go with him.

Sherlock sighed as they arrived, climbing out of the cab while John paid the driver. He glanced around, clearly not pleased. John got out of the cab a moment later.

“Alright, I came, can we go back home now?” Sherlock inquired maliciously. 

John huffed, rolling his eyes in displeasure. “Sherlock.” He warned, “It isn’t going to kill you to do something besides study dead people’s toe fungus!”

“It might.” Sherlock muttered, crossing his arms. John gave him an incredulous look. “Fine, let’s just get this over with.” Sherlock sighed exaggeratedly. 

John shook his head, leading the way up to the castle like place that was decorated to look old, and rather run down. It seemed dark, and quite typical. Sherlock reluctantly walked alongside the other man, knowing that there was no way in hell that he was going to enjoy this in the slightest. When they reached the door, there was a man dressed to look like a vampire to greet them. Cheesy. Typical. Sherlock thought in annoyance, taking in the ‘vampire’s’ clearly cheap fangs and costume, and rather poorly done make up. 

“Good evening! Enjoy your time, and try not to be too frightened. Screaming provokes the monsters!” The man said in a rather cliché, ‘spooky’ voice. John grinned as they went in. Sherlock scowled. 

There were quite a few other people already inside as they entered. This only added to Sherlock’s displeasure about the whole situation. There was an eerie sounding music playing in the background, and the lighting was rather dim. As they began walking through John was glancing around, seeming to be quite happy to be there. Sherlock looked pretty much the opposite, and John shook his head. If Sherlock would just loosen up, maybe he’d actually enjoy himself for once. Determined to make the detective have fun, and not to let the man’s displeasure bother him, John dragged Sherlock along through the first room. 

It was decorated with projected ghosts on the walls, and was set up to look like some sort of hospital room. A scary hospital room, supposedly. Sherlock wasn’t exactly impressed, though other people seemed to be. Exclamations of “Ooh!” and “Ahh!” could be heard as they walked through. The dim lighting flickered, an eerie laugh echoing through the room. In the set up hospital bed, a torn and battered ‘man’ sat up, causing screams from the guests. Fake blood splattered the floor and bed. A croaky, menacing voice from somewhere growled out “Run!” as the man started charging towards them all, and everyone headed for the exit across the room hastily. Sherlock glared as he was pushed along with the crowd, being dragged by John as well.

“Honestly, it’s not even scary. It’s clearly faked.” Sherlock was muttering as they entered the next room. 

John sighed. “Sherlock, everyone knows it’s fake!” He snapped, “And you know what? I know you don’t like this, but you don’t need to keep voicing your opinion. You’ve made it quite clear already. So do me, and most likely anyone else who might hear you a favor, and just shut up, alright?” John hissed in annoyance, before turning away to focus.

Sherlock opened his mouth, but then closed it, pressing his lips together. Fine. If that was how John wanted it, he wouldn’t talk at all. Telling himself to be annoyed, not hurt, Sherlock crossed his arms. He wasn’t listening to what John had told him to do; he was merely being quiet so as to make John feel bad about dragging him here. Yes, that was it. Exactly the reason why. 

John seemed to ignore Sherlock for the most part as they went through the next room, gradually going back to enjoying himself. Forget Sherlock. If the man didn’t want to try and have a little fun, then that was his own problem. Not John’s. 

Sherlock kept his lips sealed as they went through a couple of more rooms and hallways, jumping slightly at certain things and hoping nobody had seen. He wasn’t supposed to be scared. This was all faked. None of it was real. It was fine. All fine. However, his body seemed to jerk instinctively every time someone jumped out at them. That seemed to be the one thing that was getting to him.

Another ten minutes in, John laughing in enjoyment, and Sherlock still silent and displeased, the detective felt pressure coming from his lower abdomen. He ignored it for a moment, and then looked at John. No, the doctor would only accuse him of just wanting to leave. Besides, they were almost done anyway, right? He thought about asking, but it would only anger John. Sighing quietly, the brunette resolved to just wait it out. 

John was surprised that Sherlock had actually been quiet, though he figured it was probably because the younger man was just angry. Typical Sherlock.  
Sherlock seemed to have been wrong about them being almost through. Another 15 minutes later, and they were still being scared and lead through rooms of various themes. The pressure had now grown to be even more prominent as his bladder protested the waiting. Surely it would be over soon. It had to be.

Sherlock was half right. The end was coming up within the next 15 minutes or so, but just 5 minutes later something happened. They were being led down yet another hallway, the music low and pitchy. It was even darker than the others, if that was possible. Everyone was feeling their way through, avoiding the scary faced pumpkins on the ground that were vaguely visible in the dim lighting. Sherlock grimaced slightly, at this point rather uncomfortable ad dreaming of the sweet relief he would have once they reached the exit. Gingerly feeling against the wall slightly and walking along with the others with John in front of him, Sherlock suddenly felt as if it were just too quiet. This hallway was too plain. Having this revelation did nothing to prepare him for what happened just a moment later, however. 

Coming out of seemingly nowhere, there was a sudden blast of noise. A loud, grinding, motor noise that emitted screams from everyone. Including, for the first time the whole evening, Sherlock. The noise came from behind them all, and everyone’s heads whipped around. A masked man was running at them with a monstrous chainsaw held tightly in his hands. Sherlock jumped, afraid and trying to press himself up against the wall as everyone scrambled back. The chainsaw bearing man stopped in the midst of them, teasing them by waving the machine around. John, along with everyone else was frightened, but Sherlock seemed downright terrified. As he pressed up against the wall, eyes wide, he was unaware at first that the shock had caused his aching bladder to give way. The man teased them for only a moment before zipping off down the hall again, escaping into a near invisible room that they hadn’t previously seen. Everyone began to calm down, but Sherlock’s heart only sped up as he realized what was happening. 

He swallowed, his face going rather pale. Everyone began to start moving down the rest of the hall again, but Sherlock stayed frozen. He could feel the warm wetness soaking into his underwear, over flowing and beginning to dampen his trousers rapidly. He pressed his legs together, even grabbed at his crotch for a moment, but all his efforts to stop his bladder from continuing to release went in vain. He mentally cursed, glancing down briefly as his urine flowed down his legs, darkening the fabric and beginning to hit his shoes, as well as the floor.

John felt the absence of Sherlock’s presence as he began to move with the others. He turned, and squinted, spotting the man a couple feet behind him in the dark light. “Sherlock? What are you doing? Come on.” He said, taking a step towards the man.

Sherlock didn’t reply, his cheeks now reddening. He was too mortified. His pants and trousers clung wetly to his legs, soaked with quickly cooling urine as his stream stopped. His bladder was empty, but the detective felt nothing even close to relief. John looked puzzled at the other man’s peculiar behavior. Something seemed wrong, but was it? John took another step closer. “Sherlock, what’s wro-“ John stopped, glancing down as he almost slipped in something. He thought it to be water for a half second, before everything suddenly clicked with him. Closer now, the look of embarrassment on his friend’s face became prominent. Oh. Oh. Christ.. John thought about laughing, but after another look at how ashamed the brunette looked the urge vanished.

“Oh um,” John fumbled for words, before getting over his shock. He was a doctor for Christ’s sake. “Sherlock, it’s okay.” He said gently.

Sherlock refused to look John in the eye, shifting uncomfortably. He was wet, and cold, and highly embarrassed. This shouldn’t have happened. He shouldn’t have gotten scared. He should have had control. 

“Really, mate. It’s alright. It could have happened to anyone. You were scared. Let’s just get out of here, okay?” John reassured, gesturing for them to keep walking.

Sherlock silently nodded a bit. John began to lead them down through the hall, the next room only about ten feet away. He glanced around, looking for some sort of emergency exit they could maybe leave through. He felt it might be too cruel to make Sherlock wait until they reached the end if he didn’t have to, as he didn’t know how much time they had left. 

Sherlock followed John, leaving wet footprints for a few feet. He could feel a bit of urine in his shoes, and felt utterly disgusted with himself. They entered the next room, and Sherlock kept his head down, desperately hoping that none of the other people around noticed his obviously soaked trousers. John continued glancing around for an exit, though wasn’t having any luck. He wasn’t paying any attention to the actions going on in the room. He felt bad for Sherlock, actually, his previous annoyance with the detective long forgotten. He could see that the other man was genuinely upset by his accident.

Unfortunately for Sherlock, they had to wait it out until the end of the house, as all the emergency exits seemed to have been well hidden. The next ten minutes were horribly long to Sherlock. A couple of people noticed what had happened despite John’s attempts to keep them behind the crowd, and he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to quite delete the memory of the laughter pointed at him from his brain. They finally did reach the end, Sherlock shivering a bit and highly uncomfortable. John grabbed onto his sleeve and led him right past the witch that was giving everyone farewells at the door, heading for the street.

“Are you going to be okay until we get to the flat?” John asked quietly, glancing at his friend.

“Yeah.” Sherlock mumbled with a slight nod, still not making direct eye contact. John didn’t say anything else, just hailed for a taxi without another word. When one pulled up to the curb, John climbed in first, followed by Sherlock. The smell of piss lingered on him slightly, and he hoped the cabbie wouldn’t take notice. Or notice the fact that one of the men in his cab was covered in his own urine. John gave the driver their address, and the man seemed to be none the wiser, which was good.

Silence fell as both men stared out the window, Sherlock shifting uncomfortably at intervals still. He felt ridiculous, and as if he’d ruined everything. He felt gross and upset. Finally he spoke, breaking the almost everlasting silence.

“I’m sorry.” Sherlock mumbled quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. The apology was uncharacteristic of him.

John glanced over, feeling surprised, and also a bit sad. Sherlock shouldn’t feel the need to apologize for something like this. “It’s alright, Sherlock, really. You don’t need to apologize.” He reassured the other man. “It was an accident.” He added.

Sherlock sighed quietly, but nodded a bit. John accepted this, knowing the other man was still going to be embarrassed no matter what he said. It’d just take time.  
Another fifteen minutes later and they arrived at their flat, Sherlock climbing out of the cab first while John paid. John got out after, following the detective to the door and unlocking it. Sherlock quickly climbed the stairs, heading straight for the bathroom once inside. It wasn’t because he still had to go; it was because he wanted to shower immediately. 

Sherlock stripped off the wet clothing, turning on the shower. He stepped under the hot spray, scrubbing himself raw to remove the faint smell of his accident. He sighed, just wanting to forget the entire incident. After a good twenty minutes in the shower Sherlock finally stepped out, grabbing a towel and drying off before wrapping it around his waist. He exited the bathroom, going to his room and putting on fresh clothing. He came out a little while later, deciding that he couldn’t hide from John forever. He would just act as if nothing had happened.

John had hung up his coat and sat down in his armchair, grabbing his laptop and fiddling around on it. He made a mental note as he did: Never take Sherlock to a haunted house again. Damn wanker. Always got his way, in the end, didn’t he? John shook his head, looking up as Sherlock entered the room. The detective flopped onto the couch.

“Anything on the website?” Sherlock asked without preamble, as if it were just another night.

“No, haven’t seen anything. Perhaps Lestrade will text you tomorrow with something.” John replied, catching onto what Sherlock was doing. If the man wanted to pretend that nothing had ever happened, then that was fine with him. 

“Hmm. Hopefully.” Sherlock muttered, idly flipping through a book.

John watched him for a moment, before turning his attention back to his laptop. The rest of the evening came and went as if nothing had ever taken place at the haunted house. John never brought up Sherlock’s accident, and neither did the detective. It was merely a secret stored away in the back of both of their minds. A memory not forgotten, but not relived, either.


End file.
